It seems that all the money I’ve spent through the years buying mirrors was completely unnecessary. There’s hardly a day that doesn’t go by where someone or something hasn’t reminded me of the color of my skin. That doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, but really? Don’t these mirror people have anything better to do?

When I wake up in the mornings, I usually stretch. Amazingly, every morning the same thing happens: two black hands attached to black arms stretch out in front of me. I’ve yet to be surprised by this, but I can’t say that I really take notice of the color. They are just my arms and hands.

When I peer in the mirror as I’m multi-tasking brushing my teeth and plying the sleep out of my eyes, I only see me looking back. It never occurs to me that a black woman is staring at me. There are so many moments every day where I confront a mirror and almost never do I think of the fact that I am black. But I don’t need to. Society has become my mirror. I hope someone remembers to clean that mirror every once in a while. It’s beginning to get smudged.

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About InkMusician

I am a writer, cook and dreamer. I am sister to none and daughter to one.